Sonata
by woodbyne
Summary: Every family has skeletons in its closet, right? Daniel Beilschmidt didn't realise that the skeletons in his family closet wore cement boots. Dan takes a trip through music, college, and his heritage while trying to remain sane. Full Summary Inside.
1. Da Capo

**Ok. Here goes; the first chapter of Sonata: Schutzengel universe second generation. **

**Warnings: **HETEROSEXUALITY! Yuri, and minor yaoi, Mafia!talia, Nyo!talia, language, violence, violins, flutes and guitars. Musical terminology, angst, epiphanies and mentions of incest, just not how you think.

**Summary**: Every family has skeletons in its closet, right? What Daniel Beilschmidt didn't realise was that the skeletons in his family closet wore cement boots. Armed with a strat and some blank staves, Dan takes a journey through music, college and a dark heritage he didn't know he had while trying to remain sane and inspired.

**Please note: Unless it's absolutely necessary, I don't like to use OCs in my fanfiction. Therefore, the Nyo!talia verse come in handy, and as I am rather fond of the characters in there, I use them extensively. **

**Julschen: Nyo!Prussia.  
>Daniel: Nyo!Hungary<br>Chiara: Nyo!Romano (said Kee-ara as far as I am aware. Shortened to Chi (Kee))  
>Anne: Nyo! Austria<br>Antonio: Spain ( Called Francisco – his middle name – to avoid confusion with his mom yandere!) **

**I think that's everyone.  
>Pairings: PruHung, HungAus, Prumano, SwitzLicht, Gerita, Spamano, AusLicht, Franada, USUK . . . Uh. Everyone is sleeping with everyone else. Let's just leave it at that, kay? Please bear the Nyo!characters in mind!<strong>

**I hope you enjoy ^^ **

"You really didn't have to walk me to my dorm, Chi, I can find my way around just fine. Actually, you didn't have to come with me at all; don't you have to be in school?" Daniel Beilschmidt asked the girl behind him, who tossed her auburn hair and snorted gently – not so much that it would be unladylike – if derisively at him.

"Dan, I'm taking a family crisis day; my stupid big brother is going away to university; I'm grieving," she said, her voice and face sombre and distressed.

Dan couldn't help but laugh out loud at that, "How does anyone ever believe you? We aren't even related!"

If you had asked someone to guess which of the Vargas siblings was Dan's best friend, most people would have said Antonio (known by various shortenings of his middle name, Francisco to prevent any confusion with his mother, Antoni_a_) who, being eighteen and male was closer to the Hungarian's age and was the same gender. So they would be bros, right?

Quite spectacularly wrong, actually. Dan and Sisco got on about as well as a disease and its antibodies. They constantly bickered and on a couple of occasions it had even turned into a flat-out brawl, which had to be broken up by Dan's scary uncle Ludwig. Though Chiara was the more antagonistic of the two siblings, and at age sixteen, the younger, she and Dan got on surprisingly well. This may have been because she had idolised him from a young age as a big brother figure (far superior to her actual brother, for whom she held a high disregard). She had even started learning music at the same time as he did, picking up a violin rather than a guitar.

They stopped outside a door marked 206. Dan smiled a little nervously, sure he had travelled, but he had never really stayed anywhere by himself for any extended period of time. He had always had at least one member of his very extended family with him (most of whom he was pretty damn sure bore no relation to him whatsoever.)

"This is me," he grinned, feeling the butterflies of the Milagros beanfield shrivelling his internal organs apprehensively.

"Keep yourself out of trouble, _idiota_. You know what you're like when you don't have me looking after you. You'll probably trip down the stairs and die," she smiled her false smile.

"Thanks, Chi," Dan's smile broadened and he punched her lightly on the shoulder.

"Chigi! That counts as abuse in fourteen different countries, bastardo!"

"Whatever," he pulled her into a one armed hug, "scat, or you'll miss your flight back home."

"Flight, schmite. Take care of yourself, no one else will." And with that she turned on her heel and swished back down the corridor, her heels clicking on the tiled floor. Dan had to laugh and shake his head as she flipped off a guy who whistled at her. It was so Chi.

He opened the door to his room and looked at the man passed out on one of the two beds. He was face down, but he had an army green greatcoat on and close-cropped brown hair and darkish skin.

Dan shrugged, placing his guitar carefully on the bed before dumping his suitcase unceremoniously on the floor, earning a grunt from his new room-mate. He glanced at the man's luggage; Sadiq Adnan. Well, that was a name he hadn't encountered before.

He looked around the room. It was small to the point of being pokey, and largely taken up with Sadiq's drum kit. Maybe they could jam sometime?

~====o)0(o====~

His theory of composition class was surprisingly small, there were four other guys and as many girls. One of the guys had to be as tall as Uncle Ludwig, with steel, square-framed glasses. Another was small and quiet, but the way he was glaring gave Dan the creeps. Yet another was dark skinned and bald, though he had quite a lot of gold facial jewellery, and Dan wondered how he didn't get mugged for it when he walked down the street. The other was Sadiq, who in addition to being a drummer also played the alto saxophone, which he had with him now. The words "Sax to be you," were emblazoned across its case in what looked like stencilled spray-paint.

The girls were a distinctly separate crew. While the guys were chatted in and amongst themselves, with the exception of one, the girls were sitting fairly quietly. There was a dark-haired girl in a neat pencil skirt and blouse who caught Dan's eye. She was a refined kind of beautiful, and he liked it. Another girl had short ash blonde hair and was talking quietly to a tall girl with long, messy blonde hair. But the girl who he kept having to look at was the one who just wouldn't shut up. She was talking loudly in an accent that Dan recognised as being distinctly German. Everything about her screamed LOOK AT ME! Her too-short-to-be-decent white vinyl miniskirt, her deep blue bomber jacket, the antique ruffles on her shirt (to disguise that she was flat-chested, no doubt. He had seen Uncle Feli pull that stunt too many times) her ass-length white-blonde hair and the boots (white vinyl, to match her skirt) that laced up to her creamy thighs.

She was hot, but she was also fucking irritating. Momentarily putting aside the manners his mother drilled into him and resorting to the store of crude profanities that both of his parents had instilled in him from a young age, he called to the loud-mouthed young woman,

"Halt den mund!"

"Spreken sie Deutsch?" she fired back immediately, totally ignoring his demand for her to shut up.

"Ja-" he began, but was cut off when she raised a hand for a high-five.

"Like a boss, man! I'm Julchen," she said as he stared at her hand in confusion. "Dude, don't leave me hanging!" He slapped their palms together.

"I'm Daniel,"

"You're honoured to meet me, I know," Julchen gave a wicked smile before returning to her seat, leaving Dan a lot confused and more than a little pissed off. The lecturer marched into the theatre, shrugging off his jacket.

"Hello, all," he said brusquely, "I am Peter Kirkland and I will be taking you through the theory of practical composition. You all have five minutes to think a snippet of song that describes you, why it does that, and you have to play it for us. Tune up!"

The cacophony that ensued that could only be compared to an elephant trying to pass a gallstone the size of a Buick in the middle of Mardigras. One alto sax (Sadiq), one tenor (which was the surprisingly short girl with ash blonde hair and almost violet eyes) one electric guitar (Dan), a piano (the dark-haired girl), a flute (Julchen) A clarinet (the blonde woman), an oboe (the tall dude), a double bass (from the creepy dude) and shockingly enough, a synth from the bald guy with a colander for a face.

"Righto, time's up and ladies, first, chaps. Which one of you would care to lead?" both the tall, wild-looking blonde and Julchen said,

"Me!" at the exact same time. Professor Kirkland pointed at the blonde,

"Clarinet comes before Flute alphabetically, sorry, love but this young lady gets to go first."

"Thanks prof," he blonde woman said, standing, "I'm Christina. I'm from Denmark and this song describes me because it's almost as epic as I am," she smirked, touching the instrument to her lips and beginning to play one of the more haunting movements of Clint Mansell's Lux Aeterna.

The professor nodded, "Very good, Christina, though a little sharp. And you, love?" he asked Julchen,

"I'm Julchen, I come from Germany, and I chose this extract from Sacred Power of Raging Winds by Rhapsody because I figure that if you have talent, you should show it off," she said before drawing a deep breath and launching into a complex and staccato piece that in terms of tempo and fingering was more suited to a recorder than a flute. When she finished playing, her cheeks were slightly pink. Daniel knew the song, and much though he hated to admit it; she was very good. Maybe they could play that song together sometime, it had some great riffs. Maybe Sadiq could kick in with the drums?

The next girl was the petit, if formidably curvy, blonde, "I'm Tina," she smiled shyly, "I'm Finnish. People tell me I'm jolly," she said, picking up her sax and proceeding to rattle off a medley of upbeat Christmas carols.

Finally, it was the dark-haired girl's turn. She sat stiffly at the piano for a moment, as though uncomfortable with the spotlight, "My name is Anne," she said quietly, she also had a German accent, though there were slight differences, "I am Austrian," that would explain that, "And I will be Preforming Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, it is my favourite piece," the room stilled as she played, moving with the music. It was slow and sad, longing for something other.

There was a stretch on unfathomable quiet as she lifted her fingers from the keys, though she had only played for a minute, the lack of music resonated profoundly, yearningly around the room.

Then it was on to Sadiq, who played a jazzed up version of Istanbul, Not Constantinople (he was Turkish, go figure) and the tall guy, who it turns out was Berwald from Sweden and played the Oboe piece from Peter and the Wolf. Because he liked how there were no words.

The bald guy (Gupta, from Egypt. Who'da thunk it?) played an excerpt from a song called Sofi Needs a Ladder by a band called "deadmouse," which was spelt Deadmau5, apparently. Dan wasn't much fond of trance, but Gupta really rocked his synths.

Daniel's impression of creepy-double-bass-guy was only cemented when the Norwegian, Lukas, broke out into Daniel Licht's Blood Theme, which Dan recognised as the creepy tune they played when that popular TV serial killer was chopping people up. Finally it was Daniel's turn.

"Hi, I'm Daniel, and I'm sort of Hungarian. I like this song because it says my name," he said, playing the very first riff he had ever learnt, Smoke on the Water, but with the added accompaniment of him singing "Dan-Dan-Da~n, Dan-Dan-DanDan, Dan-Dan-Da~n Daniel!"

"Very good, all of you," professor Kirkland said, grinning, "Now, what is it about these compositions that makes them so popular? Some are timeless classics, such as Beethoven, some have their own cult like Mansell. Let us dissect the composition. What makes it tick? Not the metronome, that's for sure."

~====o)0(o====~

Chiara arrived home a day later utterly jet-lagged. A round trip to England wasn't exactly her idea of fun, especially not when she was met at the airport by her idiot bother,

"_Buon_ _giorno_, _principessa_," Antonio grinned lazily, his pet turtle, Señor Tortuga sitting on his shoulder. He knew that she didn't like amphibians, or reptiles, whatever the fuck that thing was; she hated it, "have a nice trip?"

Chi adjusted her sunglasses, "_Stai_ _zitto_, fatass, it's none of your business."

"Aw, _sorellina_, you wound me," he grinned.

"Fuck off, Sisco, just take me home." Her brother laughed as he complied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Chiara Vargas, at the tender age of fourteen, had discovered that her parents were – to her eyes, at least – super villains. However, she didn't mind. Super villains always got to wear better costumes, and Dan didn't seem to mind at all. Dan was her idol; she always followed his example, even if it got her into trouble. It wasn't until about a year after that that she realised that Dan didn't know about the dark and dangerous things their parents did. Which really did give her the perfect justification for calling him an idiot, how dense could he be?

But now, at sixteen, she no longer idolised her friend, and she was far more deeply involved in the intricate web of the family than either of her parents knew or would have cared for. In fact, she had her own little network going. It was for that reason (she had a few errands to run, her father to suck up to, so on and so forth) that she didn't get a chance to check her emails until later that evening,

_To: VargasChi (at) ymail "Chiara"  
>From: DannyB (at) yahoo "Dan"<em>

_Hey, Chi!_

_Miss you already, kid. You'd really fit in here I think. I know you'd definitely smack a bitch; there's this chick called Julchen, she's irritating as fuck, but she's also fucking good at playing the flute. . ._

Chi smiled. As long as Dan was happy and she wasn't going to have to organise a hit on any of his teachers, she could go to bed.

~====o)0(o====~

Daniel kicked off his shoes, listening to Sadiq snore (The poor guy was still running on Istanbul time) and flopped back onto his bed. He had been worried about homesickness, but his classes were keeping him too busy for any kind of worry, and he was actually pretty happy with his current situation.

Life was good.

Like that was going to last. . .

~====o)0(o====~

**Here we go guys! This is the first chapter of the story that I am now having some serious doubts about; please let me know if you like it ^^**

**~RutheLa**


	2. Semplicimente

**Cara is Monaco. She cheats at cards. **

**Thank you to Stripes93 (as always ^^), 1silentmouse, animerockchick, Tala and KajiMori for taking the time to review, it means the world to me.**

**I'm currently accepting requests, if anyone has anything that they want written but can't be bothered to do it themselves (and it's just not the same, is it?). Preferably no longer than a 3-shot, but talk to me. Send me a PM/email (miss. ruthie. p -at- gmail. com) and I'll write for you! Any and all pairings and genres accepted; enquire about fandoms.**

All in all, music school wasn't so bad. Dan found himself settling into a rhythm with his classes, coursework and the parties that his classmates liked to hold. Music parties were the best thing in the world as far as he could tell. The best thing in his world, at any rate. Getting up onto whichever kicked-over crates served as a stage in whatever disgustingly derelict old warehouse was their venue for the evening and harmonising with Gupta's synth-and-DJ skills with his six-string was exhilarating. It was especially fun when one of his classmates (usually from his theory of composition class. As it was a small group, they were mostly pretty tight) got up beside him and they played together.

Despite the fact that their arguments made the hundred-year war look like sibling's spats, Daniel and Julchen's bitter rivalry sparked a competitive friendship. One was constantly trying to out-do, out-play and out last the other. It started with marks and GMK, but before long it had escalated into a competition of skill; play-offs erupted between them and sparks flew as though metal had been set to grindstone.

But when Julchen had walked into class one afternoon and greeted Dan with, "Hi, bitch," and he had responded with,

"Hey, whore," They were firm friends. Well, perhaps frenemies would be a better way to put it; they still competed with each other ruthlessly.

Sadiq and Dan had an interesting agreement going; the Turk wasn't going to tell anyone that Daniel used a pink, flowered hairclip to keep his fringe back from his face when he was in private, and Daniel wasn't going to tell anyone that Sadiq owned (and treasured) a pair of Hello Kitty boxer shorts (Though Dan didn't know why and wasn't particularly inclined to ask; mostly for fear of being told and having to move rooms. He couldn't sleep in the same room as a psycho).

Gupta was a pretty rocking guy, too. Though because their taste in music could be vastly different, he and Dan didn't really hang out much outside those impromptu (probably illegal) parties.

The Fin and the Swede (tiny, curvy Tina and the intimidating Berwald) had fast become a couple, Tina feistily denying that they were dating at all while hanging off of Berwald's arm, a faint dimple in the Swede's left cheek the only sign that he was smiling.

The best, and it was ill-fitting, label that anyone could attach to Christina and Lukas was hate-fuck-buddies. Which wasn't entirely true, because it did look as though the Dane was trying to have a relationship with the sullen, spooky Norwegian, but he was resistant (but not reluctant if you believed Tina, with whom he chatted a little, but wasn't interested in – and with Berwald standing possessively behind her, who would be?)

And Anne, oh, Anne. It was probably for the best that nobody except for Chiara, who was safely ensconced in her fancy Italian private school and therefore unable to do more than send teasing emails, knew about his crush on the quiet, refined woman. It was ridiculous for him to be crushing on her like he was in primary school. It really was. He was a man of class and sophistication; he could seduce women in seven different languages (though he was only really fluent in four. Uncle Francis was very. . . helpful when it came to that sort of thing. It had been he, after all, who had explained the birds and the bees to little Danny. It had also been he who explained the rabbits, the fishes, and – in explicit detail that no seven-year-old really wants to know – exactly what it was that Mommy and Daddy were doing naked on the kitchen table.)

He was infatuated; she was beautiful in a polished way, in the same manner as perfectly sculpted Renaissance marble. Michelangelo himself couldn't have better carved her pale face, her full lips, her strong, delicate hands – a poetry of contradictions. If he had been given to penning songs to women, he would have a thousand embarrassingly whimsical ballads of love scribbled out on messy staves under his bed. Which, considering Sadiq's snarky attitude and utter disregard for personal space and privacy, would have been a bad idea even if he was that way inclined.

And he hadn't even gathered the courage to talk to her yet.

Not that he wasn't experienced with women, far from it (Thank you, Auntie Antonia, Uncle Francis, Uncle Feli and _Dad_), and despite that all the French he knew dictated a very kinky sexual encounter, he liked the idea of true love. He wanted a love as permanent and precious as that in the examples that his elders provided for him; dysfunctional as they were (but everyone's parents had explosive fights when they thought no one was looking, right?). Anyway, his parents had been together for twenty-six years, and that wasn't exactly a small feat, was it. Not in these days of divorce and throw-away relationships. It was actually quite odd that everyone he knew (over the age of thirty, that was) had been in a steady relationship for as long as he was alive. In fact, most of them had kids. His parents had him (No siblings? But the first one was perfect, why would we need to try again?), Auntie Antonia and Uncle Lovi (I'm not your fucking uncle!) had Antonio and Chiara, even Uncles Francis and Matt had adopted a rather pretty young girl named Cara (who, if Dan was really going to be honest about it, was a right slut, but Francis might just explode if anyone ever told him that). In fact, the only parental figures in his life that didn't have children were Uncles Feli and Lutz.

He had asked Feli once, why they didn't have any children if he loved them so much (and he did; the Italian's favourite pastime was spoiling his nieces and nephews rotten – Cara and Dan were counted very much as family, and received the exact same treatment as Sisco and Chi). His answer had been a sad smile and,

"Ve~ Some things can never be replaced, Daniel. Some things shouldn't be replaced. A child is one of them."

He was tentative asking Ludwig about it, but when he did, the next weekend, they had flown to Germany for the weekend, just he and the silent blonde. It wasn't as though Dan hadn't been to Germany before, but this time it had been different. He had been taken to a small graveyard that was mostly over-grown and a bit decrepit. They had stopped before two graves, side by side. One headstone was a little smaller than the other and considering the state of the rest of the cemetery, were neat and orderly; they both had wilted flowers in front of them. Ludwig had replaced the flowers; roses for the larger and a mixed posy of cornflowers and edelweiss for the smaller one.

"She would have been almost six years older than you by now," the German had said quietly.

Dan loved the environment that he had been raised in; it was family orientated, and their family was large, and mostly of non-blood relation. It was warm and inviting, open and honest. He had told Chi that once and she had laughed in his face.

"Chigi, Dan, you need to stop looking at your parents as parents and start looking at them as people in their own right. They have lives and interests that don't involve you. They've made mistakes and had achievements that don't concern you." Which was some pretty deep thinking for a fourteen year old. But Chi had always been a pretty mature individual. It came with having older friends; she had grown up talking to grownups and people who wanted to be grown up.

~====o)0(o====~

Anne Edelstein sat at the piano in the practise hall, the carefully tuned instrument silent beneath her still fingers. She felt complete in front of a piano. Ever since she was a little girl; her mother had given her a tiny, tinny plastic piano and she had spent hours plink-plonking away at it, utterly absorbed.

She always felt a sense of guilt when she remembered how hard her mother had worked, scrimping and saving so that she could send her daughter to lessons, to theory classes and even gone so far as to rent an upright for their already-cramped home. She remembered how her mother had smiled when she played, when she made her first composition. The tears of joy that had been shed when she had earned her scholarship to this prestigious school. She missed her mother now. She had died a month ago and now Anne felt completely alone. She didn't fit in with this crowd of boisterous rich brats. She wanted so badly to go home, but she knew she couldn't she would finish her degree and make her mother proud. Her mother and the father whom she had assumed never wanted her. Even on her death-bed, Marie-Therese had never said a word.

"Hey, Prissy-Pants!" Anne almost let her shoulders slump in defeat, "I thought I might find you here. Sheesh, what a workaholic!" She and Julchen Edelstein may have shared a surname, but that was where the similarities stopped. Whereas Anne was quiet and fairly reserved, dressing as she thought a lady ought to, Julchen was loud and extroverted and dressed like a complete tramp; the shorter her skirt and the frillier her shirt the better.

"What do you want?" she sighed, not wanting to talk to the other woman at all.

The German strode over and sat beside the Austrian at the piano, poking low E.

"I want to talk to you; woman to woman. It's about Daniel Beilschmidt. You know him; comp-theory, needs a haircut, plays guitar."

Ah, so then Julchen had caught her staring and wanted her to stop. It was true that Daniel was attractive, even if his wood-brown hair was a little (a lot) longer than was conventional. He generally kept it back in a pony-tail that stopped just above his shoulder blades, though there was still a heavy fringe that hung in his face and irritated him when he played. Sometimes he came to class with a flower tucked behind his ear as though he had forgotten that it was there. His grass-green eyes always had a smile in them.

At first she had thought that he was the same as all the other snobs that attended this school; loud and obnoxious (the first thing she had heard him say was "Shut up!") but attraction had won over and she found herself watching him. He was polite, he made intelligent contributions to the class and he played very well. She had found that last bit out in one of his musical duels with the platinum blonde before her. Otherwise he didn't seem to like showing off much. Even his guitar was an understated black Stratocaster. It didn't sparkle or glitter the way a guitar could.

"I see, I'm sure I'm no threat to your relationship with Daniel. Your concern is unnecessary," she answered stiffly.

Julchen blinked, stunned, "_Relationship_? With _Dan_?" she choked out, "Are you serious?"

"You mean to say that you two aren't. . . ?" Anne fought off a blush.

"What? _Herr Gott, nein_!" the blonde looked side-long at the brunette, poking a few more ivories, "I don't play for that team." She added, a little more quietly than normal.

"Then I don't understand what you wanted to talk to me about," Anne was supremely confused; if Julchen didn't want her to stop looking at Daniel then what did she want?

"That."

"What?" her temper was getting short.

"I'm going to be blunt, because that's just how I like to be; you come across as a frigid bitch. You act like you think that you're better than the rest of us because you got in on smarts and talent and we didn't. And poor, puppy Daniel is scared shitless that if he asks you out you're going to glare at him and turn him down,"

"He said that?" she asked, appalled.

"No, I said that. He told his best friend that he likes you and I hacked his emails. But that's not the point. The point I am trying to make here is that you need to throw the guy a bone because otherwise he's going to keep staring wistfully at you with his gooey love eyes when he thinks I'm not looking."

Anne stood, brushing a long piece of material out over the stained ivory keys and smoothing it out before closing the lid carefully.

"Thank you very much for your advice, Julchen, I will keep it in mind," she said, smoothing her cheap polyester pencil skirt out exactly as she had done the plush velveteen key-cloth.

The German waited a few minutes until the click of her practical heels had faded down the hall.

"Of course," she said to herself, getting up and walking out, "I didn't say that every time I say 'party!' his first question is, 'Do you think Anne will be there?'"

~====o)0(o====~

Dan was happily tuning up his instrument, playing a happy little riff to a sad little song just to check out the sound. It was good, and he was happy. He flicked his hair out of his face again. He wasn't sure why he kept it this length. Habit, he supposed. To irritate his father, maybe. To pander to his mother. Because he couldn't be bothered with either a hairdresser or a pair of scissors.

He huffed when the offending hair flopped cheerfully back into his line of vision, a sulky pout teasing the jut of his lower lip.

"Here, use these," Dan blinked in surprise and looked up. He had been so wrapped up in getting his F in tune that he hadn't noticed Anne until two bobby pins were thrust under his nose by moon-pale fingers.

"Hi, Anne, thank you," the words flung themselves from his lips in a fairly knee-jerk response. The words felt stiff and awkward, but his heart was beating a fevered tattoo in his chest. He made no move to take the hair restraints.

Smiling a little, and hiding her school-girl blush behind impassive cheeks, she pushed the slides into Dan's hair, fixing it neatly behind his ears before repositioning the pink peony behind his ear. Quickly catching her hand with the flower still in it, he took the bloom and tucked it into her loose bun,

"A fair exchange is no robbery. Besides, it suits you better than me; peonies mean feminine beauty. If you believe my uncle. He knows a lot about flowers," if Daniel could have stepped out of his own body for a second and kicked himself in the shins, he would have. But he just couldn't stop himself thinking about Francis. All the advice his sexually deviant uncle had given him about women and flowers was flooding his mind and mixing into useless phrases like, _Always use beeswax to seal the stems and remember that if you spread enough honey you'll catch more than just flies_. The only think he was happy about was that at least the metaphors weren't mixing.

But the line that Francis had drilled into Dan's head whenever he was babysitting was, "_Don't try to be her knight in shining armour or her fairy-tale prince. Be the man you are and if she loves you then you will be her prince and her knight, no matter what you are really_." Thankfully it was that line that stuck, even through the confused buzzing about bees. It helped that an image of Matt smacking Francis across the back of the head accompanied that memory; his Canadian uncle wasn't over-fond of being cast as the bottom in the relationship, and had had Francis limping for a week just to prove it.

Anne blushed a little, had he just called her beautiful? "_Danke_, maybe you could show me where you got it? It's a lovely flower," she touched the soft petal nestled nested in her hair hesitantly.

"It would be my pleasure," he smiled, feeling happy enough to faint, "are you free before class tomorrow?"

She shook her head, "I have to practise, but I am free afterwards?"

"I'll see you then!" his grin almost split his face in two.

Anne turned to go back to her seat, catching the eye of a blonde German woman who gave her an approving nod and a knowing smirk.

**Oh my word, there is so much that I want to include in this story! But anywho. If you're reading All The Small Things, there is a chapter in there that is very important in relation to this story; Sinsational. There's also a funny one about Chiara; Hip's Don't Lie. **

**I hope you enjoyed this. Things are going to go downhill fast from here. Guess how? Also, I might to a side story about the guy in the wheelchair from Je Suis Qui Je Suis, because in this tangled universe; no one is coincidental. **

**~RutheLa**


	3. Cadenza

**Cacow, Tala, 1silentmouse, Stripes93, Pherse Issac and skittleAstalker*cough*Cullen. Thank you very much for waiting patiently for this chapter (or forgetting about it completely, that's cool too.) I had a bit of the dread Writer's Block and I was also trying to work through my backlog of plotbunnies (which I am still working through. The Schutzengel verse has put a lot of projects on the back burner.) You may or may not have noticed the flood of stories I posted the other day. **

**Thank you for participating in this brief update on my life. We shall now proceed to the actual story, which is the real reason you heartless sods are here. **

"Sisco?" Chiara whined, leaning against the door frame of her brother's room, "What have you done with my-"

Alto or not, and she was definitely alto, Chiara Lovina Vargas' screams could shatter glass.

It took two hours of the most frightening tantrum either Lovino or Antonia had seen for their youngest child to calm down enough to get any sense out of her, and her brother had to be kept in a separate room, or else she would attack him. He may have been two heads taller, and he may have been twice her width in muscle, but she was a force to be reckoned with. Especially when she was angry.

"_Principessa_," Lovino wheedled, "My little girl, what happened. You can tell your Papa," he stroked her hair while she clung to his arm, angry tears still streaming down her face.

"He! He! My Violin! His stupid _Señor Tortuga _– that dumb turtle! My violin! My violin is in the turtle tank! In the _water!_" she managed.

"There, there, _Principessa_, it's alright, Papa will buy you another one," he soothed, rubbing calming circles into her back, trying to eyeball some support from his wife.

"_It's the Lady Blunt Stradivarius_!" Chi's voice was hoarse and rough from screaming, but still strong enough to express her indignation and horror at her father's idiocy, "It's _irreplaceable_!"

"I'll get you another one, a better one, I promise, _Principessa,_" he cooed, and she snuggled into his side, sniffling.

"_Grazie_, Papa," she smiled wanly; "I'm going to go wash my face now. It's all puffy," so saying she walked sedately from the room.

Antonia frowned as her daughter shut the door with a soft click, "She's planning something; I don't like it."

"Honestly, _cara_. She's sixteen. She'll probably egg his car at worst," Lovino scoffed, unwilling to believe that his little girl could do anything worse. His wife pursed her lips doubtfully.

Outside the door, Chi had paused to run disdainful eyes over her brother, who was lounging against the door-frame, a triumphant smirk pulling lazily at his features. He looked a lot like their mother, but Antonio Francisco Fernandez Carriedo Vargas was lacking in much of her compassion and in possession of all the instincts and characteristics that made her so good at what she did.

The girl adjusted her headband and raised an eyebrow challengingly,

"This," she hissed, "means _war_."

~====o)0(====~

Class was a catastrophe. For the first time in his entire life, Daniel was stuck for a music related answer and had to be fished out of his well of despair by Julchen and her irrepressible need to be better than everyone else (given that her father was Roderich Edelstein, it was probably genetic).

"Now, lads and lasses," Professor Kirkland announced, clapping his hands for silence, "I have been asked to inform those of you who signed up for the extra credit performance project, you have each been assigned a venue at which to perform. Please collect your locations from me after class, they have been assigned according to your instruments and will begin next semester. Dan, can I have a word when you fetch yours?"

Dan nodded once, before continuing to sweat nervous bullets. He hadn't the first clue how to impress a girl like Anne, and even though he knew that he wasn't really supposed to 'try and impress her', he really, really wanted to make a good impression.

"Professor Kirkland?" he asked the dirty-blonde man when he came to the head of the queue for assignments, "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"Nothing much, lad, I just wanted to recommend some songs for your assignment. An, er, an acquaintance of mine frequents the establishment, and he's quite partial to them."

Dan looked down at the piece of paper he had been handed. It had the school letter-head on it, his name, a few brief instructions and the name and address of his assigned location, _The Queen Anne's Revenge_.

"Sir, this is pirate ship. You frequent a pirate ship?" he asked, utterly confused. Peter Kirkland thought he was going to explode with laughter.

"Well spotted Dan. Yes, the Queen Anne's Revenge is the vessel of the legendary pirate Sir Edward Teach, but it's only a pub, lad. You'll be part of a band. Their guitarist just left for Surrey, and my acquaintance recommended our school, and I recommended you."

"Sir, you keep saying 'acquaintance,' and I get the feeling that this person is not an acquaintance."

"Perhaps not quite, though uncle Arthur is one of those people that I sometimes wish was an acquaintance. He can be a bit of an embarrassment. But the family resemblance is strong, so I might as well be straight about it," he grimaced. Dan frowned questioningly,

"An embarrassment how, sir, if you wouldn't mind me asking?"

"Oh, he can get quite uproariously drunk, and when he does he pretends that he's a secret agent. It's quite funny the first few times. And then there's his on-off, love-hate relationship with that American. I mean, his boyfriend is barely a year or two older than me," he shook his head, "Sorry, Dan. It always gets me riled up. The bastard goes to Italy for a year and comes back with a cowboy."

"He lived in Italy?" Dan chose to focus on the part of that sentence he could relate to, "I grew up in Italy."

"I thought you were Hungarian?" the professor pounced on the change of subject eagerly.

"That's where we enter a grey area. My father is German, my mother is Hungarian and I was born in Hungary, but I spend most of my time between Italy, where my dad works, and Germany, were my mother works. Well, where mom likes to work. But all my friends and family live in Italy, so I count myself as Ita-Hungarian. It makes about as much sense as the rest of my family." He glanced at his watch and blanched, "I've got to go, sir. I have a date, and I really like this girl."

"Best foot forward, young Daniel. Faint heart never won fair lady!" the older man called after him as he dashed from the lecture theatre.

~====o)0(o====~

"So, how long have you been playing the piano?" he asked, feeling jittery all over as they walked through the little flower garden that was tucked away in one of the many courtyards and quadrangles to be found in the historic building.

"Since I was two. That makes it twenty-three years as of my next birthday," she said. Her voice was still clipped and formal as though she was giving a formal speech, but her body language was slightly more relaxed, and she was even smiling faintly. But her words made Dan want to stick something long and dexterous into his own ear and wiggle it around until he figured out exactly what it was that was causing him to mishear and get it out of his head.

"Twenty-three years? That makes you twenty-"

"Twenty-five, yes. I do realise that I am older than you and our class mates," her posture righted itself and she once more seemed cold and intimidating, "But circumstances prevented me from enrolling."

Dan shrugged, digested the information and decided that it might be best to adopt the familial attitude of age-gaps-are-fun and just carry on talking, "Age doesn't matter unless you're a cheese," he smiled encouragingly at her, tactfully steering away from negative conversation topics, "I read that on a book-cover somewhere."

That perfect melody couldn't be laughter, could it?

"You should laugh more often, it's beautiful." For the first time, Daniel saw Anne blush. It stood out starkly against her pale skin and dark hair; making her look like Snow White made flesh.

"Thank you," she said; her voice less precise, "I haven't even had much reason to smile lately. I'm glad that you could make me laugh," she looked pointedly at a flowerbed full of bluebells, tucking a stray lock of hair back into the large stone hairclip that had bound it. The Austrian woman was just a font of conversational-landmines, wasn't she? "How is it," she said after a pause, "That a Hungarian speaks German?"

"I'm not pure Hungarian," he said, trying to cut down on the length of his explanation because he had already said it once this afternoon, "I was born in Hungary, and my mom is Hungarian and my dad is German, and though mom speaks Deutsch, dad doesn't speak Magyarok, so English is the go between. I grew up in a multilingual household, so I think I speak," he squinched up his face, thinking hard, "German, English, Hungarian, Italian and some Spanish and. . . Well, I don't really speak any decent kind of French."

Anne raised her eyebrows, "That's impressive. Did you have many tutors?"

"Not tutors as such. Just listening to my family, really. It was sink or swim; I either learnt what the languages or didn't understand anybody."

"You are different from the rest of them," Anne said, weighing her words, "You act as though you know the value of important things," she looked at him challengingly, and Dan cracked a broad grin. He knew the answer to this question and agreed with it whole-heartedly.

"Things aren't important. People are. I have my family and my friends, that is what is most important," she nodded her approval, shivering slightly as the last golden fingers of late afternoon sun faded, leaving the secret garden cool and tranquil. Seeing the shudder, Daniel shrugged off his jacket, warm, worn brown leather, and hung it on her shoulders. She blinked at him in surprise,

"But your jacket-?"

"People are important, not things."

Getting Anne to laugh twice in one date is what Dan considered to be an afternoon well spent.

~====o)0(o====~

After that wonderful afternoon, Dan's evening took a turn for the mildly worse and altogether more surprising when he found Julchen slumped against his dorm-room door.

She had her knees tucked up under her chin and her arms around her legs. In a terrifying contrast to her usual demeanour, she looked as though she was trying to take up as little space as possible.

"Jules?" he asked. Sadiq was at a party, that much he knew, and wouldn't be home until the small hours, which may have explained the white-blonde girl curled up on his doorstep, "What's up."

"I hate him," she snapped, her eyes puffy from crying, "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. Can I come inside?" Dan held out a hand to help her up,

"Of course, who do you hate?" he asked, pulling her to her feet and unlocking the door.

"Roderich Edelstein."

Once the two were safely ensconced in his room – rules are made to be broken, right? – and Julchen was draped in a duvet to ward of the cold that her miniskirt did not, Dan managed to extract the full story.

"Usually that schlappenschwanz never calls me, and I never call him. But this afternoon, when I got back to my room – I'd left mein handy there to charge – I had four missed calls from him. So I called him back and he told me that my mother had left him and it was all my fault and – and – and – and that he'd keep paying for me, but that I – Ich – I-I can't come home. And mom hasn't called me and he didn't tell me her new number. I have nowhere to- to go! The semester ends on Friday! The school has me down as a termly boarder! What am I going to do?"

The Hungarian stared at her in a suspended disbelief; he didn't believe that a father could just shut his own daughter out like that without any warning, or how he could be so cruel.

"Give me a few minutes," he said, grabbing his phone, a plan brewing in his cranium. He dialled and stood in the corner – it was the best spot for signal in this otherwise tech-hating building.

"Hey, it's me. Where are you going to be when the semester ends? Perfect, can I bring a friend. No, dad, not that kind of friend!" Dan gave Julchen an apologetic glance and grimace, "Lieb! Danke Schön!"

The white blonde looked quizzically, hopefully at her Hungarian friend, "Was?"

"Julchen Edelstein," Daniel said with a mock bow, "I cordially invite you to spend your holiday at Chez Beilschmidt in Rome, Italy."

Her answering hug almost choked him.

**Thank you very much for reading, I hope to update sooner. Please review?**

**~RutheLa**


	4. Accelerando

**Sorry about the late update ^^ Happy Valentines everybody! **

**Tala, 1silentmouse, xSalemx, skittleAcullen, Feliciana Vargas, ItalysWifeMab and Pherse Issac, thank you all for your kind reviews; sorry for making you wait.**

They stood ten paces apart like an old west shoot-out. Somewhere out there, Clint Eastwood was nodding his approval. The high noon sun shone down upon them and in the distance a cicada buzzed its uneven melody.

"Chi, this is Julchen, Jules, this is Chiara," Daniel felt a bead of sweat slide down his temple. Not only was it unseasonably hot, but the tension crackling between the two women was enough to incinerate a moderately sized star ship.

"I thought you'd be taller," the blonde snarked, eyeing the Italian up and down.

"And I thought you'd have more colour to you. You look like _Zio_ Gilbert," Dan winced and grimaced and Jules, who had yet to meet his father – Chi being the (un)welcome wagon today – laughed,

"Oh, I _like_ you," she smirked, "You're devious like a giant purple cow and spunky like pink camel! Insulting me above my head. Nice aim, pipsqueak," She held out a pale hand for the younger woman to shake.

Chi took the offered hand with a wicked grin, "Don't go thinking we're friends now, bitch. You've stolen my man."

"Pft," Julchen made a dismissive sound, "I'm too awesome to steal anyone's man; I'm just keeping him warm for you."

"I'll pretend I'm grateful if you shut up," they smiled at each other and the German held out her arm. Dan expected a full on catfight to erupt, but instead, the Italian took the proffered appendage and they walked into the hall linked arm in arm.

"Let's be _friends_," Chi said in her highest, most girlish voice.

"_Best_ friends," Jules answered; a feral, calculating edge to her voice.

~====o)0(o====~

"Uh, Jules?" Dan said, knocking on her open door. He didn't go in – mainly because he had once walked in on his mother and the scolding she had given him at age four was still ringing in his ears – but stayed outside, eyes firmly fixed on the opposite wall.

"Ja, was?" she called, already right at home in one of Lovino's guest bedrooms – Dan had come to think of his surly uncle's home as his own because of the excessive amounts of time he spent there.

"We're going to eat soon, and I wanted to ask you a favour," he said looking slightly uncomfortable

"Spit it out, Dan, I won't bite. You know that costs extra," she snapped her teeth playfully.

"Uh, sure. The thing is. Could you wear pants?"

"_Was_?"

"Trousers. Pretty much the entire household is devoutly Roman Catholic, and eating together is kind of a big thing. We're supposed to dress smart-casual, and I'm afraid that they're going to do something embarrassing to both of us if your skirt ends above your knees."

The white blonde snorted with laughter, "I know that feeling. I always have to dress like a _lady_ at – when I was with my father." The laughter died, "thanks, Dan. I'm sure I've got something halfway decent."

"If not, I'm sure you can borrow something of my mom's or _tia_ Antonia's. I don't think anything of Chi's would fit." He suggested. It was a bad suggestion, but it was the only one he could think of off-hand.

"No thanks, I like my own threads just dandy," she said, flipping him the peace sign while the Hungarian man blinked in confusion, "Sorry, I slipped in the space-time continuum."

He burst out laughing, "I understand. I'll let you get changed. We eat in ten minutes," Dan left, and Julchen let out a little sigh. She wasn't going to admit it to anyone else, but she was more than a little nervous to eat with Daniel's family. She hadn't had any semblance of a meal with her own in years.

~====o)0(o====~

Dan was at his absolute wit's end with all the melodrama that was happening today. First there was Julchen meeting Chiara, but that had actually turned out quite well. Unfortunately, her meeting with his father was a lot less pleasant. Yes, they both had very similar personalities, but that isn't always a good thing. Trying to fit two egos that size into one excessively large dining hall was diffic- let's call a spade a fucking spade. It was bloody impossible. They knocked sparks off of each other from the get-go.

In the five minutes before they were due to sit down and eat, Jules had gravitated towards the pale man, thinking him to be Daniel's grandfather.

"Oh, I see you've met my dad. Julchen Edelstein, this is my father, Gilbert Beilschmidt, dad, this is Jules," Dan had clapped his hands excitedly, hoping that everyone was going to get along. No such luck.

"Father? I though he was your grandfather!" the German girl gaped at the same time as Gilbert said,

"Edelstein? _Arshloch_!" And spat on the carpet, prompting Antonia to smack him with a wooden spoon as she brought a try of food into the dining room.

"Gil! _Ay, Dios_, we're inside! Have some manners_, per favor_!" she frowned, bustling past, "Has anyone seen Chico?" she asked hopefully, and Chiara, who had just slipped in through a side door smiled knowingly. A few seconds later a different door flew open, the usually sleepy-eyed Antonio Francisco – Chico to his mama – looking absolutely livid as he stood, panting in the doorway, a terrified Señor Tortuga clinging comically to his dishevelled hair.

"You!" he screamed, pointing at his sister and stomping toward her. Julchen looked confusedly between the two and back to Dan, who had his head in his hands and was shaking with a mixture of repressed mirth and despair. Sisco had been reduced to angry Spanish and a lot of very threatening hand gestures. Chi was beginning to look very uneasy, and though Daniel was only catching about half of what the other man was saying, it was not safe dinnertime conversation. Or anytime conversation.

"Chico!" Antonia called angrily, marching over to her son, only to be slapped away with a barely coherent,

"No, Mama! She -" before he broke down into Spanish.

"That's no way to talk about your sister!" Lovino chipped in, only aggravating the situation as accusations of rank favouritism flew through the air in three different languages. Julchen poked Dan, leaning in to whisper,

"Is it always like this?"

"Welcome to the family," the Hungarian sighed back tiredly. School was stressful. He didn't need to have all the usual bothers of home as well. What a mission. He regretted bringing his pale German friend into all this when she so badly need a break from familial chaos.

Much to everyone's surprise, the young woman stepped forward, taking each of the siblings by an arm,

"Sisco, Chi, calm down already, why do you want to fight when I'm here? Come, Chi, you can sit on this side with me, Sisco, you sit over there with Dan, no you can't kick each other in the shins under the table. Let's put the feud aside and have some food instead, _ja_?"

Completely confused, they sat obediently as their parents and Daniel sat down, watching her warily in case she bewitched them too.

~====o)0(o====~

Anne lay on her bed, looking at her answering machine and it's blinking red light. Daniel knew when she was home, and he called her then. But this? This wasn't a message from anyone she wanted to hear from. Or did she? She didn't know.

She reached out and pressed play,

"_Hallo? Is this Anne Edelstein? I have just received a letter from Marie Therese . She strongly recommends that I meet with you. I would like to treat you to lunch. I will be at Rococoa at one-thirty pm sharp on Tuesday, if you would be so kind as to join me." _The message ended. There was no name, no connection to her mother. Just a man on the other end of the line asking her out to lunch.

She had already arranged with her boss so that she could make up the hours she would miss, but it was one o clock and she didn't know if she wanted to go or not. Her mother had never had any contact with men before, platonic or otherwise,

"_Your father was the only man I will ever love,_" she had said kindly when Anne had asked if she was lonely. Which was a sweet sentiment, but she also refused to answer a lot of questions about the mystery man. He was a gentleman, apparently, and a great musician. Marie Therese had been so proud when her daughter grew up taking after her father, looking like him as well.

Fine, she decided, swinging her legs off the bed and straightening her full length skirt. She was going to meet this mystery man. She stopped to touch the floppy velvet petals of a bouquet of peonies that Daniel had sent her. It made her truly happy to know that he was thinking of her enough to send flowers, even though they were in different countries.

~====o)0(o====~

"What the fuck did you even do?" Julchen asked, reclining on Chiara's plush bed as the younger woman painted her toenails a beautiful dark blue. Dinner had gone surprisingly well, even if Daniel's father had been glaring daggers at her the entire time. The Vargas children had been polite and well behaved, aside from a slicing motion across the windpipe from a still-seething Sisco.

"Hmm?" The Italian pressed a little diamante stud into the wet colour, admiring the effect, "Give me your hands. I just called his girlfriend on Skype. All three of them. At the same time. You don't fuck with my violin without some serious repercussions." Chi laughed, dipping the little black brush into the pot of Prussian blue and covering Jules' nail in three practised strokes.

"You play?" the German asked in happy surprise, taking the slim brown hands in her own, careful of her wet nails, "I should have known; you have strong hands."

Chiara felt her face heat up and she leant back, realising that she had been far too close to the other woman.

"_Grazie mille_," she said stiffly, "I use them to punch my brother in the face." Julchen's smile was wicked as she followed the younger woman,

"Well, if it's just your brother, then you won't hit me if I do this?" Julchen leant in closer, cool fingers on Chiara's cheek as she guided the other into a slow kiss. It was soft and undemanding.

When they broke apart, the German was smirking, her eyes half-lidded and the Italian looked like she didn't know if she wanted to kiss her again or scream.

"_Chigi_, how did you know?" What was meant to come out as a confidant demand was a nervous whisper. She wasn't very confident about her sexuality, and she wasn't sure that it would be welcomed with open arms by the rest of the family.

"I do now. Besides, only something like three per cent of the population is fully straight or gay anyway, so I figure that my chances are pretty high," Julchen laughed quietly, and Chi went bright red, a tentative smile spreading across her face.

"Come over here, _si_? It's my turn."

~====o)0(o====~

It was truly surreal to think that she was having lunch with Austria's most famous export; Roderich Edelstein. Though much of his hair was still a rich dark-chocolate colour, there were two large wings of silver-white that swept back from his temples. There were a few creases in his skin, mostly frown-lines, but otherwise his face was ageless. Her best guess was that he was in his late forties.

"I take it then that you don't know why it is that I have invited you here?" he said stiffly, his manner as cool and collected as her own,

"I do not, though I should very much like to know why you claim to know my mother when I have never met you. I would think that my mother would have considered how much I would have liked to meet you."

There was a pause as the waiter set the food in front of it and Roderich chose to focus on the food as he spoke.

"I think that your mother may have been slightly more concerned about how I would react when I learnt that I have a daughter."

**Who saw that one coming? Errebodeh.  
>Anyway, sorry for the late post, have a happy Valentines, you're awesome.<br>Ah, Schutzengel Universe… Like riding a bike…**

**RutheLa**


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